7nd of Spring, 516AV
These were the pieces of magic Nora held the closest to her heart. Oh, yes - even the sweat, even the smoke, even the spilled ale somewhere beneath their soles. Because it sure was magical, wasn’t it? The evening before the weekend at The Rearing Stallion at your service, sir and ma’am, with the music, the smell of freshly roasted pork, and the feelings of being somewhat playful – also a little rough around the edges, and most definitely joyful, and – just maybe – a bit more drunk than should be advisable.
But, oh, what else can they do? Well, you—You can’t just sit idly by when the ale is flowing and the hands are clapping along the songs you’ve known since youth – a youth gone by too soon, and yet not really.
And, because of this, of course Nora was one of them. She wasn’t the bard responsible for this evening – she wasn’t the only songstress in town, and nowhere near the best to even consider herself applying for the title (and yet!) – but that wasn’t denying her the simple pleasures of life when opening the tavern’s doors and stepping inside. The hot air hit her face as freshly as it could, considering the Rearing Stallion was crowded with people. Bustling! Bursting! The first moment she even frowned – so daringly, much gall, oh my – at the sight. Not a facial expression she would have thought of when entering one of her favorite places in the known world, but, hey, nothing’s perfect in Syliras.
It would get worse, though, and Nora knew that from experience. She should find her place to sit down and order some ale, or else she’ll need to fight her way through with her elbows. Meanwhile giving an enthusiastic wave to a fellow colleague busy with meddling around her lute, Nora finally found her spot.
Her spot.
Her favourite spot, and lo’ – taken by a heathen! Taken by an unknown face!!
Truly such a dare, really. Such gall. No matter. First she considered crossing her arms, tapping her foot and maybe using all of her intimidation skills to get the redhead away from her favourite stool – with the best visibility over the stage, mind you, - but then, sadly, common sense reminded Nora that she doesn’t have any. For a moment her eyebrows lowered, but then Nora took few swift steps, perhaps finally gaining the redhead’s attention, and put her backside on a stool. Very. Uncomfortably. Near the guy.
Now she was crossing her arms. She wasn’t a self-entitled harpy, though. No, really.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
Of course. Her being Nora Maiden, perhaps she just hadn’t noticed the redhead. All these weeks. All these seasons. But no way, right? Couldn’t be true. He was just unlucky, and maybe he could be persuaded—No. Now that she thought about it, persuasion wasn’t the thing on her mind.
It was a matter of petty revenge.
These were the pieces of magic Nora held the closest to her heart. Oh, yes - even the sweat, even the smoke, even the spilled ale somewhere beneath their soles. Because it sure was magical, wasn’t it? The evening before the weekend at The Rearing Stallion at your service, sir and ma’am, with the music, the smell of freshly roasted pork, and the feelings of being somewhat playful – also a little rough around the edges, and most definitely joyful, and – just maybe – a bit more drunk than should be advisable.
But, oh, what else can they do? Well, you—You can’t just sit idly by when the ale is flowing and the hands are clapping along the songs you’ve known since youth – a youth gone by too soon, and yet not really.
And, because of this, of course Nora was one of them. She wasn’t the bard responsible for this evening – she wasn’t the only songstress in town, and nowhere near the best to even consider herself applying for the title (and yet!) – but that wasn’t denying her the simple pleasures of life when opening the tavern’s doors and stepping inside. The hot air hit her face as freshly as it could, considering the Rearing Stallion was crowded with people. Bustling! Bursting! The first moment she even frowned – so daringly, much gall, oh my – at the sight. Not a facial expression she would have thought of when entering one of her favorite places in the known world, but, hey, nothing’s perfect in Syliras.
It would get worse, though, and Nora knew that from experience. She should find her place to sit down and order some ale, or else she’ll need to fight her way through with her elbows. Meanwhile giving an enthusiastic wave to a fellow colleague busy with meddling around her lute, Nora finally found her spot.
Her spot.
Her favourite spot, and lo’ – taken by a heathen! Taken by an unknown face!!
Truly such a dare, really. Such gall. No matter. First she considered crossing her arms, tapping her foot and maybe using all of her intimidation skills to get the redhead away from her favourite stool – with the best visibility over the stage, mind you, - but then, sadly, common sense reminded Nora that she doesn’t have any. For a moment her eyebrows lowered, but then Nora took few swift steps, perhaps finally gaining the redhead’s attention, and put her backside on a stool. Very. Uncomfortably. Near the guy.
Now she was crossing her arms. She wasn’t a self-entitled harpy, though. No, really.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
Of course. Her being Nora Maiden, perhaps she just hadn’t noticed the redhead. All these weeks. All these seasons. But no way, right? Couldn’t be true. He was just unlucky, and maybe he could be persuaded—No. Now that she thought about it, persuasion wasn’t the thing on her mind.
It was a matter of petty revenge.